To Be A Pendergast
by Special Agent Purple Squi
Summary: Based on Special Agent Pendergast from the Lincoln Child & Douglas Preston books, this is just a quickie ficcie on Pendergast as a youngster. Please r&r, thank you!


Title: To Be A Pendergast Author: Special Agent Purple Squirrel aka Lynn McEachern Rating: G Archive: Sure, go ahead, just give me credit.  
Summary: Just a quickie fic about young Aloysius Pendergast.  
Disclaimer: If you recognize it, then you know it isn't mine. I ain't stealing, I'm just playing! J   
  
"Come, Aloysius."  
  
Tall and sophisticated, Cornelia Pendergast paused, looking back to see her eight-year-old great-nephew, Aloysius, dragging his feet on the sidewalk, and staring longingly at the playground. The humid New Orleans heat shimmered around them, making her carefully-coiffed hair go limp and frizzy, and exaggerating the annoying cowlick on the back of her nephew's head that never seemed to lie down, no matter how much Brylcreem his mother applied. She sighed. "Aloysius!", she snapped, more sharply than she had intended.  
  
"Yes, Aunt Cornelia." Reluctantly, the blonde youngster hurried to catch up. Cornelia found herself gazing at the plump child, his chubbiness an unwelcome result of his inordinate fondness for sweets. Really, his mother spoiled him far too much. The boy was not being raised to understand his place in things. His tastes were far too plebeian, for a member of the Pendergast clan. A student at a public school, of all things! What was his mother thinking? Before they could resume walking, two boys of about the same age as Aloysius came running up.  
  
"Al! Want to play? We need one more for even sides."  
  
"Sure!" Without thinking, Aloysius ran to join the other children in their game. Disrespectful and feckless, Cornelia thought as she started after the boys. "Al"! The child actually answered to "Al"! This was intolerable, and it was high time that she took things in hand. The boy's mother certainly wasn't going to do it, and his father spent all his time working in the lower rooms with Aloysius's older brother, Diogenes. Aloysius was far too soft, far too open and friendly, far too sweet, to survive in the world as a Pendergast. Enough was enough. Aloysius couldn't spend the rest of his life being his mother's pet.  
  
"Aloysius!" Authoritatively, Cornelia strode out onto the baseball field. On the bench, comfortably seated with a bunch of disgustingly grubby children, Aloysius looked up at his great-aunt, a familiar stubborn expression forming on his pale face. The children fell silent at the sight of her.  
  
"Yes, Aunt Cornelia?"  
  
"We haven't time for this, Aloysius. We must return home. You have piano lessons. Come, now." She stood, proud and formidable.  
  
"I'll come later. I want to play ball right now."  
  
Cornelia was flabbergasted. Disobedience? Honestly, that boy's mother…Cornelia counted to ten. Then twenty. Finally, her breathing returned to normal.  
  
"No, Aloysius. Not later." Slowly, she walked over to the bench and bent down to the boy's level. Her dark eyes pinned his pale blue ones. "Now," she said, with finality. "Don't make me say it again."  
  
Cornelia stood, and held her hand out. After a moment -- quite a long moment, actually -- Aloysius slid off the bench, shamefaced and furious. He refused to take her hand, but he did march alongside his great-aunt as she led the way out of the park, his light blue gaze fixed straight ahead. Red patches burned on both cheeks. Was that a glimmer of tears that Cornelia saw? She couldn't be sure, but she thought it was. Soft, too soft. He needs discipline. He needs teaching. Not coddling. Damn his negligent parents, focusing all their energies on Diogenes and allowing their baby to grow up spoiled.  
  
Behind them, one of the boys called after them. "Hey, Al! Are you coming back?"  
  
Her young charge did not acknowledge his little friend. Cornelia turned back. "You will refer to him as Aloysius, not Al. And no. He is not coming back." She put a hand on Aloysius's tense shoulder. "Run along, now," she said to the child, then looked down at Aloysius. "Come along, Aloysius."  
  
As they walked silently home -- Aloysius red-faced and fuming, Cornelia calm and poised -- her thoughts were on the boy by her side. First thing, she thought, was to remove him from that dreadful public school -- imagine! A Pendergast, being educated with the masses! -- and enroll him in the same school that her own children attended, a lovely institution in New England. She would also tutor him privately, teach him more about Pendergast history and his own heritage. Strip away his childish ways -- was that a toy car sticking out of the back pocket of his smartly-tailored pants? Cornelia shuddered.  
  
Yes, the boy needed teaching. And she was just the one to do it. He needed to learn. He needed to learn that he was privileged, that he had responsibilities, that he was exceptional, and special.  
  
That he was a Pendergast. 


End file.
